


The Best of Both Worlds

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance, episode-related, hurt-comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-30
Updated: 2004-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-01 11:16:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the CLFF 6th wave challenge - Clark and Lex come from different worlds. What happens when worlds collide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best of Both Worlds

## The Best of Both Worlds

by kryptokitten

[]()

* * *

Note: AU after Exodus 

* * *

I was valedictorian at my boarding school. I graduated from Princeton Sigma Cum Laude the top of my class. I own and run a business that is expanding exponentially, and is likely to make its Fortune 500 debut in another 5 years. 

Yet, I don't understand why I care for Clark.

We come from completely different worlds: mine one of business and aristocracy, his one of farm work and school work. Of course, he is a very smart boy - when I get him to relax enough to let a bit of his true self shine through, I get a glimpse of a tireless mind constantly working to better understand the world and people around him. I like to think a large part of that is devoted to wanting to understand me.

However, we both live in dual worlds. I also exist in a sphere of scientific study, poetry, and the parts of myself I only dare to indulge when I'm with Clark.

He, though, has his own world of mystery. I watch him across the Talon, my paper work forgotten as I enjoy this rare opportunity to observe. He's reading - something by Vonnegut - and I can tell his mind is elsewhere. I see it in the forward curve of his shoulders, the way his brow is drawn tight over changing eyes that have turned blue with distance. His coffee - a black espresso so different from the sweet lattes I usually order - sits cold and half empty on the table in front of him, though when he sips at it he doesn't seem to notice.

Occasionally Lana walks by and says a few words to him, and he offers that beatific smile I used to think was just for her but is really for everyone, something bright and warm that people can't help but try to emulate when they see it.

Then Lana moves on and the smile disappears so quickly it makes me doubt if it was ever there at all. His shoulders hunch and his chin curls into his chest in a practiced way. Like maybe, just maybe, if he can make himself small enough, no one will know he's there.

I return my gaze to the papers in front of me and gather them into the briefcase before I move to join him. When he sees me that smile shines back through again, and our worlds converge.

"Hey, Lex. How is physical therapy going? Are you feeling better?"

I feel warmed by his concern, and I move further into his world. "My trainer says I'm doing well for someone who was in a major plane crash. I'd hate to think what I'd be like if I was progressing slowly."

He winces, like he hates to think of it, too, and puts his book down before brushing away the hair that's fallen into his now focused eyes. It's longer than it used to be, and starting to curl. He looks older that 17, despite the lack of worry lines someone like him should have formed, and suddenly 6 years doesn't seem so long.

"Really, it's nothing short of a miracle. I was going down pretty fast - the plane got ripped apart - and yet, here I am." He just shrugs and looks away. "And what about you? Did your father ever find out what caused that explosion?"

He looks down at his hands and sips his coffee idly, eye twitching as he only now notices it's cold, then answers, "Not yet. He stored a lot of chemicals down there - it could be anything."

I wish I hadn't asked, because the smile is gone, buried deep under sadness and a curiously deep self-loathing.

I can feel him slipping back into that place of mystery, and when I try to follow I only get lost in the shadows there.

"Look, Clark, I'll only say this once because I don't want you to feel pushed." I have his attention, his gaze questioning. "If you need anything, even just someone to listen, I'm here."

When he smiles this time, it's less bright and more soft - but more genuine and personal.

"Thanks, Lex. That means a lot to me."

And once again we coexist on the same plane, a place that only began to form in the last two years. A world that only we share.

Someone says my name, and just like that, the moment has dissolved and we've moved back to our separate corners of the universe with our unfocused gazes and false smiles.

"Lana. How's business?"

"Great! Now that it's not so hot, people can venture out again." She looks at Clark, her eyes pointing down at the corners a bit, and the pity is evident.

Clark clears his throat, and I can tell he's about to make an excuse. "I have to head home. Glad you're feeling better, Lex. See you, Lana."

"Hey." I grab him about the bicep to stop his retreat, and resist the temptation to squeeze the hard bulk that burns through his long T-shirt into my palm. "Let me give you a ride. Just got the new Ghini, taking her on her maiden voyage."

He rolls his eyes and grins teasingly, "Sure, Lex. Thanks."

"Of course. Goodbye, Lana."

I remind myself to release his arm, letting my fingers graze lightly over the shirt as I drop them. Either Clark doesn't notice or chooses to ignore it like all my other flirting, and I feel at ease. 

As I lower myself into the crafted leather bucket seat of my car, I can't help the foolish grin of a child who just found the bra of his friend's older sister: something seductive and mysterious and deliciously off-limits. "God, yes."

Clark ducks his head to look in the open passenger door and says, "I never knew you to be a religious man, Lex."

"Fuck you."

A smile, and he's sliding in, knees pressed up against the dashboard as he shifts forward so his head clears the ceiling. A dirty look only widens my smile, and I furtively enjoy watching the contortions of the slim yet imposing frame.

Lowell County roads always prove satisfying, the number of curves appropriate with the occasional strait-away just long enough to break 100 'safely.'

An appreciation of good wine, good music, and excellent cars are some of the few things Lionel has tried to teach me to which I have been receptive. Once I had thought he might teach me to appreciate good women, but Rachael Dunleavy made me think twice on that account.

Lucky for me, I was able to find an appreciation of a good man all on my own.

"Why don't you come to the castle for a while. Give us a chance to catch up."

"Sounds like a plan."

 __*

Being a castle, the cavernous building is cold as we step inside, and I rub at my arms ineffectually as we move towards my office.

I go in, and everything grows colder.

"Son! So good to see you on your feet."

I practically sneer. "Dad. So good to see you care."

He feigns to be wounded, the sarcasm blatant in his stance. "Why, Lex, of course I care." He looks past me and smiles. "Good to see you again, Mr. Kent"

I look over my shoulder to where he stands, shoulders slumped with one arm curled tightly around him as his other hand pulls down ineffectually on the hem of his green shirt. His eyes radiate anger while the rest of his expression suggests he might be sick.

"Mr.Luthor."

The familiarity with which my father greets him, paired with the way he looks him up and down with the full body sweep he usually reserves for debutantes and other prospective fucks, makes me both furious and worried. I feel tempted to put my arms around Clark and growl. 

Instead, I step into his line of sight and fix him with a glare, pretense forgotten. "What do you want?"

He smiles once more at Clark over my shoulder, then looks back to me and says, "Just wanted to see how you were feeling. Now," and his expression becomes all business, "I need to meet with my lawyers and have you reinstated in my will. You created quite a mess, Lex, and as always it falls on me to clean it up."

"So sorry my near death experience inconvenienced you."

"Apologies don't pay lawyers fees, but I'll overlook your folly this time." He walks past me without saying goodbye, and I watch him pause next to Clark in an obvious invasion of personal space, and he's grinning again.

"Say hello to your mother for me."

He brushes past him, and I almost miss the light caress across Clark's hip. Clark shivers and his face looks ashen, then he almost runs across the room towards the opposite door.

"Clark?"

He just continues out of the room and turns right, and from the look on his face, I know he's going to vomit.

 __*

The hallway is empty, indicating inhuman speed, but I ignore it and move quickly down the corridor.

I find him on the tile floor, arms around his pulled up knees and his eyes wide and wet with shock. I've only known him to be anything like sick once, when I found him on that damned cross, and a thought occurs to me.

"You've never vomited before."

It's not a question, but he nods anyway, just a small drop and lift of his head and I can see he's shaking slightly.

I kneel next to him and when I touch him the skin feels strangely cool beneath my hand. "Clark, I need you to tell me what's going on."

He shakes his head this time, a vague motion that seems mindless. "Nothing, I just...don't feel well."

His voice is rough and close to a whisper, and I have the urge again to hold him.

"Can you take me home?"

I don't want to take him home - I want to keep him here, with me, away from my father and anyone else.

"Sure."

We drive to the farm in silence, a Jethro Tull song playing low while Clark just looks out the window completely oblivious to Aqualung.

As we pull into the drive for the Kent Farm, the wind picks up and I just now notice how dark the sky has grown.

While he's getting out of the car I say, "You think there's a storm coming?"

He doesn't answer right away, just looks toward the house then at me, holding my gaze when he says, "Yes."

I'm not sure if he's talking about the weather.

I watch him walk into the house, and the urge is strong to follow, but I just start the car and drive away. The moment I hit the road I'm speed dialing and turning on the speakerphone.

"Lionel Luthor."

"What did you do to Clark?"

There's a few seconds of silence, and I know he's surprised at the strait forward nature of my question. "I'm not sure what you're accusing me of, Lex."

"Come off it, Dad, I think you do."

"Lex, I don't know what Clark told you, but I wouldn't trust anything he says."

"Why not?"

I can hear the smirk over the line. "He's not exactly the most truthful boy."

"Look, I don't know what-"

"I have to go, son. The lawyers are waiting. I will, however, leave you with this: consider that the late Dr. Walden may not have been as far-gone as you thought."

Then he hangs up.

Shit, shit, shit. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I have an idea of what he's insinuating, but no one can expect me to pay heed to it.

Still, as I walk into my office, I realize I'm working over its logic.

I know Clark is...different. I have an entire room of the castle devoted to that fact. And maybe I'd make the leap in thought if it weren't Clark. The most innocent, good natured, human boy (man) I've ever met.

Now, if it were Lionel who was supposedly-

My cell phone goes off with that horrific electronic ring that makes you want to answer just to make it stop.

"Lex Luthor."

"Hello, Lex, it's Martha."

"Hello, Martha, what can I do for you today?"

"We need Clark at home and I thought he could be with you and I might ask you to send him home."

Fuck. "Actually, I dropped him home just 20 minutes ago. I watched him walk in. Have you checked the barn?" 

"Yes...he's not there." 

I can tell she's worried, and I can hardly blame her. "Let me take a drive into town, see if he went back to the Talon. I'll bring him strait home if I find him."

"Thank you, Lex." It's genuine gratitude.

I find myself at the Talon for the second time that day, then at the school, the Beanery, and a few other places he might be, and no Clark in sight. 

When I find him, it's in the last place I expected him to be.

I almost passed by, but some how noticed the disturbed corn stalks, some torn as if pushed aside at a high speed. I park and lock the car before I enter the field, following the path of destruction.

He's just sitting in the middle, practically lying down, and he looks sick again, but this time I know why.

Grimms field is one of the meteor hot spots. I know how those things effect Clark. Lana's necklace had him practically dead on that cross. I may not know much about Clark's differences, but I'm not oblivious. 

It's why he's here that baffles me.

"Clark?"

He doesn't answer, and as I get closer I can see that he's close to loosing consciousness, not even aware of my presence. His entire body is taught, jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might crack, and there's a bit of blood trailing down his chin from where he bit through his lip.

I jog forward and grab him just as he passes out. I drag his dense form out of the field until we're right by my car, and I slap his cheek lightly to rouse him, not enough to hurt my hand, as I know a full slap would.

He comes to with a groan, and his eyes are blue when he looks at me.

"Lex?"

"What the fuck were you thinking?" I'm furious, and his eyes focus green with the shock of it. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

He doesn't answer, but I'm pretty sure he heard me.

My father is a dead man.

"Clark." It's readily apparent how difficult it is to keep my voice low and steady. "I just spoke to my father, and he suggested there are some...things he knows about you. You need to tell me what he knows."

He looks away with a pained expression, and I'm ready for a lie. "I can't, Lex."

At least he isn't actually lying - he's admitted that he does have something to hide, and that's the closest to any truth he's ever given me.

"Clark-" I sit beside him, willfully ignoring the soil that's surely ruining my very expensive slacks, "- this isn't another Phelan. My father is infinitely more dangerous than he was, so it's imperative that you tell me what he knows and what he's doing." I reach out a hand to gently grasp his knee. "I'm the only one with the ability to protect you, and you need protection."

"No, Lex, you don't understand - there's more to it than that."

I pull him to his feet, supporting him about the waist, resting my hand on his ribs as he winces when I touch his hip, and my mind I going again trying to figure out what that means.

We need to continue this conversation, but it's not going to happen here.

"Let's get out of here."

 __*

I know Clark feels better, away from those forsaken rocks, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him. There are shadows under his eyes and his cheeks are gaunt: it's obvious he's loosing sleep and appetite over this mess. Maybe I'll put off calling the Kents - he looks like he could use a nap and a meal.

Despite his protests, I've brought him up to my room so he could lay down, and it isn't until after I have him in my bed that I realize _I have him in my bed_ , and despite what my dick may say to the contrary, this is a bad thing.

I see his iris's have gone that pale blue color again, so I sit next to him and start off with something mundane.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine." A persistently terrible liar.

I reach out and stroke his hair a bit, reveling in the feel of those soft black curls, and I hope it's comforting and not offensive.

He just sighs and closes his eyes, so I begin to run my fingers through the silky strands. My eyes fall closed as I concentrate on the sensations, and it's easy to imagine we're lovers, lazing in bed after a morning of love making.

I'm so lost in the fantasy I almost miss the gasp.

My eyes shoot open, and I stop moving my hand as I see Clark eyeing my very hard, very obvious erection.

There's something inside repeating a manta of 'I told you so,' and it sounds a lot like Lionel. My cock, however, is just humming happily.

My hand is still in his hair, and I pull it away and clear my throat, though I haven't a clue what to say.

That's when I feel a large, hot hand stoke down the front of my slacks, and I find myself groaning instead.

"Clark?" My voice is rough and I sound so goddamn needy, and there's Lionel in the back of my mind tutting, and the air has grown so thick I almost choke on-

And it all goes away when I feel incredibly soft lips pressing gently on mine.

He's so close I can smell him, something I can only describe as starlight if it were a scent, and as I lick lightly at his swollen bottom lip I can taste it, too. It's the purest form of energy, something that's much more complex than 'sweet,' but that's the best word I can think of. Something less like Kansas river water and more like a beach at moonrise.

Clark's own tongue presses lightly at the line of my mouth, then it's through, hot and so, so gentle, no waxy taste of lipstick to temper his own flavor. I twist a bit so I can comfortably put an arm out to steady myself while I stroke his cheek with the opposite hand. His skin smooth under the backs of my fingers, and I turn them over to let my thumb graze over that little mole on his right cheek bone that I've so wanted to touch.

He's an impressive kisser, his attentions on my tongue making me buck down into his lean hip. He pulls away then, and for a moment I think I've offended him. Rather, he wordlessly removes his shirt, rolls onto his stomach, then puts his face down in the pillow and crosses his wrists in the small of his back.

The submissive pose is hot but worrisome, and the rational part of my mind would be questioning it if it weren't being incessantly drowned out by that happy tune my dick is still humming.

I've straddled him, and I keep my balance with one hand on his tight, hard ass while the other is painting an imaginary brand over the landscape of his broad, strong back, the touches of my fingers sometimes light (which makes him twitch) and sometimes rough (which makes him calm).

I trail the caress down his side then delve underneath, working at the button standing as a last barrier between us. It's a bit difficult to do, but he doesn't move to help, just fists his hands and keeps his wrists together.

Finally they're undone, and I sit back on his strong thighs to pull his jeans and boxers away, my hand brushing down his quarter-hard length that's more than a little intimidating in size, especially when I imagine what it will be when he's completely hard. He's so beautiful, and that word is hardly justice. I quickly undo my own slacks and free my cock; the cold kiss of castle air welcome as it slaps against my stomach. I grasp the base and squeeze it, hard, and after a few moments under the brutal pressure I calm and can retrieve the lube at my bedside. The seal is unbroken on the tube, but there's no time to mourn the lack of a homosexual sex life, and I quickly warm the gel over one finger and press it inside. He immediately contracts around me - and I hope I'm not hurting him - then suddenly relaxes and he's really quite loose.

That's enough to bring my rational side back to the fore, and I pull my finger out. I was so sure he was a virgin, at least to anal sex, but no one is that loose if they haven't been penetrated regularly, and recently.

I take a mental step back and really concentrate on Clark. He's so still, his shoulders so tightly set he's almost shaking with the strain. I bend over so I can see his face, and the worry is back full force. His jaw stands taught, protruding under the skin, and his eyes are squeezed so tightly shut I'm sure he's seeing stars. A stray tear is pushed out the corner and trails slowly down his face, and I follow it's trek with my eyes down to the pillow that's moist with others. I realize he isn't even breathing.

I'm off of him and off the bed, putting my pants back together, and I turn and see he's still in the same position, but looking back at me with a question in his wet, tired eyes.

"I'm going to fucking kill him."

Now he's sitting up and he looks stricken and sickly, and I know he knows I've figured it out.

"No, Lex, it's not what you think-"

"It's not?!" I'm almost screaming and he winces, but I'm too angry to control it. "What is it then? Tell me, tell me he hasn't been fucking raping you."

He looks away and swallows hard. "No, it's not like that."

"Then how is it?" I'm growing hysterical. "'Cause from what I can see, it certainly isn't consensual."

He's pulling his clothes on, and I can see him almost vibrating with the need to keep in control of himself. "I'm sorry Lex, but it's...we have this..."

"What?"

He's so quiet now. "An agreement."

I'm back on the bed, kneeling in front to him, and I grab his face and turn it to me, but he keeps his gaze elsewhere. "I don't care what he has on you, but no secret is worth this."

"It's-" he has to stop and clear his throat, "-it's more than that."

I sit back on my heels and fix him with a glare.

"Tell me."

"Lex-"

"Tell me!"

He pulls his shirt on and hugs himself, and I just want to hold him and say it will be all right, but I have to know.

"If I...do what he wants, he promised he would...leave you alone."

That I was not expecting. I blink once, twice, and ask, "Leave me alone?"

"Won't make anymore attempts on your life."

I had suspected Lionel was behind the plane crash, and yes, it hurts to think he wants me dead, but right now all I can feel is Clark.

"I can take care of myself-"

That gets a watery snort. "You almost died, Lex. You hit the water moving hundreds of miles an hour out in the middle of the ocean."

"No, no, I hit near the coast, I-"

"No, Lex. You didn't." Now he looks at me and I realize, this, this is a concession. It's part of the secret.

I can feel his worlds colliding and merging as he continues, the realm of mystery cracking and bleeding into the one he let's me be a part of.

"You were coming down so fast, you must know you never should have survived."

Just like you don't survive driving off a bridge at 60 miles per hour.

"You were there."

He laughs and it sounds more like a sob, and he looks away with this sickly smirk, and his eyes are growing wet again. When he speaks, his voice is shaky. "I saw the nose hit the water, and I just grabbed the tail and pulled. I was so fucked up on red meteors I didn't even think twice about how it looked. I flew you back to land, left you at Metropolis general, made some really nasty threats so they didn't tell anyone I brought you in, then retrieved the plane and tore it apart next to the shore."

Wow, and of course, my mind sticks on one thing. "Wait, wait, you...flew."

"Yeah and, god, was that stupid. I got picked up on radar, and your dad just has everyone in his back pocket, and he just put the pieces together to figure out what I did, what I am."

"What are you?"

He looks at me again, and we're quiet for long moments then he reaches out and stokes a hand over my scalp, and I curse myself for growing hard again at the innocent touch.

"I did this. It's all my fault."

Then he smiles in a way that hurts, says "Pretty glad you didn't fuck me after all, huh?" and in a blink of an eye he's gone.

Again, this is not what I was expecting at all.

I'm in the bathroom so fast my head is spinning but I'm too busy getting sick to notice. The taste of Clark is obliterated by the flavor of my breakfast coming back up, and when that's gone I just dry heave painfully for a few minutes until my abdominals ache and my eyes are blurred with tears. It makes it easy to just sit back and cry. I haven't cried since my mother passed. I don't miss it.

I give myself 10 minutes of wallowing, then I'm back to being angry and I'm in the office dialing my father.

"Thank you for calling LuthorCorp, we-"

"It's me, put me through."

Two beats, then, "How can I help you, son?"

"You can start by leaving Clark the fuck alone."

He emits a long sigh, like I'm a child ranting about not getting to stay up late, and says, "Please, Lex, I have no time for this."

"I know you're fucking him. If you touch him again I swear-"

I'm cut off by the most chilling laugh, a deep-throated chuckle that sounds like it's rising up from hell itself. "Oh, please. That little slut was asking for it. Let me guess - he asked you for it too, probably begged so prettily, but I know you Lex, and you don't like to share your toys."

"He's not a goddamn toy, he's a human being."

There's the laugh again, and I can feel that sharp grin reach over the line and slither down my backbone.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

Then, just a dial tone.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

I'm not sure what to do now. I haven't a clue where Clark went, and I doubt he went home, and with speed like I just saw he could be across the country by now. Hell, he could be across the globe. He can fly.

I feel the edges of hysteria nipping at the fringe of my sanity, but I can't think about that now. Now, I have to help Clark.

But how?

My next call is to a very loyal, well trusted employee. After the incident when I tried to bug my father's office, I stopped trusting private contractors to render services.

"Geno speaking."

"I have a job for you."

"The usual fee?"

"Of course. I need you to find some materials- videos, pictures, whatever. They'll be either in Lionel's vault or his private residence."

"What kind of materials?"

"I don't pay you to ask questions."

He's immediately contrite. "Yes, sir."

"Any files or anything, just collect them and bring them to me - I'll go through them myself."

"I'll have them in the next 48 hours."

"Make it 24 and be discreet, and I'll double your fee."

"Yes, sir."

I hang up the phone without another word and I grab my jacket and keys, dialing again as I'm on my way out.

"Hello?" 

" Mrs. Kent? It's Lex. I'm coming by - we need to talk."

"Is everything all right?"

"No, but I can't talk on an insecure line. I'll be there in 5 minutes." I disconnect, not worrying about being rude, and get into my car.

4 minutes and I'm there. Thank god for open roads and police officers willing to look the other way after one of their squad cars had the gal to hit my golf club.

Before I can even open the screen door, Jonathan is there.

"Where's Clark, Lex?" I can hear the threat in his low voice.

"I don't know...look, let's talk."

He eyes me warily but steps aside to allow me access, and I enter the small kitchen. It's warm and bright and smells lightly of cinnamon. The contrast between the atmosphere and my mood is sharp. If I'm not so fucking worried, I think I'd laugh at the irony.

Martha joins her husband to sit at the table, and they motion for me to do the same. I sit in what I'm sure is Clark's place, and I imagine him sitting here, talking to his parents about his day and trying so hard to hide his emotions.

The Kents are looking at me expectantly, and I dive right in.

"My father knows about Clark."

I can see them pale, so obvious that they know what I'm saying, but still they pretend. Jonathan shrugs stiffly and asks "Knows what?"

"Stop it. Please, just - don't." They look surprised at the venom and hurt I'm trying so hard to suppress. "I know Clark's different, okay? I know that what makes him different is something that needs to be kept secret, and my father has proof of that very thing."

They're upset and scared; Jonathan embraces his wife as she stares wide-eyes at the tabletop.

"Look - I'm doing what I can. I have someone collecting anything that might be evidence of Clark's abilities and bringing them back to me so I can destroy them. Until we take away his proof, there's nothing we can really do without endangering Clark."

Jon speaks next. "Is that legal?"

I look him in the eye with a patented Glare. "Does it really matter?"

He thinks a moment before shaking his head and hugging his wife closer.

"So here's what's going to happen now - I'm going to call someone in to sweep your property for bugs - cameras, microphones, whatever. Then I'll have them put in a secure phone line - the one you have isn't safe to use. I'll have a background check done on all the high school's staff because, Christ, for all I know he could have someone there working for him. And," here we go, "we'll need to move the ship."

It's a shot in the dark, an inkling of what Clark may be from what my father's been hinting, but I really don't know or believe it.

Jon clears his throat and says, "Clark destroyed it at the beginning of the summer. It's a non-issue."

Really, it's what I've wanted - confirmation. Honesty. Trust. I should be happy, but I'm not. I'm shocked, because really, I never believed it was possible until now. 

Alien.

My father, Satan himself, the most powerful man in the state and maybe even the country, has control of an honest to fucking goodness extraterrestrial.

Shit.

But I can't let on to my impending melt down. So I push on. "We'll have to do a sweep of the Smallville are and collect what we can of the meteor rocks- "

"Kryptonite." Jonathan again, and, god, he looks so defeated.

"Kryptonite."

"Yes - pieces of his planet."

His fucking planet.

In outer space.

Where he came from in a spaceship.

It's really hard not to freak out right now.

"Okay...I'll have a team sweep for Kryptonite."

"What about the caves?"

Martha now, so timid and frightened. And the caves. It didn't even occur to me-

"He can read them."

"Yes - it's, it's his story, his language."

I take a deep breath. "Yes, right, we don't need another Dr. Walden incident. I'll have them secured somehow, though with my father having conservatorship, it will be difficult, take time. At the least, I can have his equipment destroyed - maybe make it look like it was vandalized, another rave."

"Just...try to preserve them if you can. Those caves are very important to Clark. They're all he has left of his heritage."

That catches my attention. "You say the...Kryptonite...are parts of his planet. He's - the only one left, isn't he?"

"We don't know what happened, but, yes, Krypton is gone, has been for some time."

Gone. A whole third world I never knew he had, and there's nothing and no one left. That poor kid - that he hasn't killed himself by now amazes me, though I wonder if he can really be killed.

"Okay...I'll do what I can."

"Thank you, Lex. Really, for everything." Jon is so sincere, and I hate that this is what had to happen for him to finally accept me.

I feel like I might cry for the second time today, and it's time to go. I stand up and say, "I'm going to go look for him. When I have the evidence or if I find Clark, I'll let you know."

"Thank you." I shake his hand, give Martha's shoulder a squeeze, and I'm out the door.

I drive slowly this time, up and down roads looking for tears in the cornstalks. I'm beginning to think he's gone to Metropolis, and that makes my stomach roll.

I get on the road leaving Smallville and am about to call my father again when I approach the bridge, and instead I pull to a stop on the side before I cross.

The feeling of deja vu is strong as I approach him, the way he's leaning against the rail and looking down into the water without really seeing it. His eyes are blue and his stance stiff, and when the wind blows a piece of hair into his eyes he doesn't bother to brush it back.

I just stand next to him and mimic his lean, and we stay that way in silence for a few moments watching the river slowly disappear beneath us.

Out of the corner of my eye I see him move, running his hand along the rail where it was fixed after the crash, smooth steel incongruous with the rusted rails surrounding it.

"This is the last place where I was normal."

His voice is soft, almost a whisper, and I resist the urge to touch him or say something. This is his show.

"Not that I ever really felt normal. But at least I thought, hey, there are other mutants, so I'm not really alone.

"Then you hit me and drove us both into the river, and everything changed. Later that afternoon I confronted my father, and he knew he couldn't hide it from me anymore."

I'm surprised, and I look up at him, and he looks so cold and sad. "You mean you didn't know?"

"No. I thought I was just one of those Romanian orphans or something, and that's why I didn't know English as a child. So in a way, I always knew I was an alien."

The self-depreciating smirk looks painful on his face, and I can feel that pain, too.

"I'm sorry." I wish I could offer more.

"It's not your fault."

"It's not yours, either." 

He just nods silently, and I know he doesn't believe me, but I drop it for now.

"I am glad, you know."

That makes him look at me, brows drawn together in a question. "What?"

"You said I must be glad I didn't fuck you, and I am - I wanted to make love to you."

Somehow he manages to look both hopeful and disbelieving at once, and it's good to see his hazel eyes again. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Underneath all that despair, I can see I've given him some happiness.

We go back to watching the river, the silence now comfortable, our shoulders pressed together, and every so often I press a light kiss to his cheek or hair, and every so often he smiles.

It's good to feel cared for, wanted, trusted - for both of us. It feels better to know that now, when it comes to Clark, I can have the best of both worlds.

**END**


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